


Mine

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Possessive Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Crowley is oblivious, Aziraphale is jealous.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 228





	Mine

It wasn't that he felt he owned Crowley. It wasn't even that he felt that Crowley would stray from him. Crowley had made it perfectly clear that Aziraphale was the only one he wanted- that he was, in fact, incapable of feeling for anyone except for him.

It was more that Crowley didn't even seem to notice when he was being flirted with enough to rebuff the attempts. The waiter who was taking their order now kept touching his own face, his lips, as he spoke with Crowley about the wine selection. Meanwhile, Crowley's hand was, visibly, resting on Aziraphale's knee. It made Aziraphale's blood boil and he couldn't help wishing they had stayed home.

But then the young man was rushing off to get their wine and Crowley had turned back to him and smiled. Something settled in his gut and he smiled back.

That was until the young man had returned and insisted on pouring the first glass of wine for Crowley, but none for Aziraphale. Crowley gave him an odd look as he left to put their food order in, but shrugged and poured Aziraphale's wine himself. The favoritism was going to earn the boy a serious lack in tip if he kept it up. Of the two of them, Aziraphale handled the tipping while Crowley footed the bill. Even mediocre service got a tip at least the size of the bill- there was a reason that everyone in town knew and greeted him by name. This new kid would learn.

“You're awfully quiet.” Crowley was gazing at him again in the way that made him flush all the way down his back.

“Fine, I'm fine.”

“If you say so, Angel.” Crowley squeezed his knee, stroking the inside of it with his finger tips. What boy? Who had he been thinking about?

But, the boy was back and he had brought help. He was attending to Crowley while a young lady laid out his own plates in front of him. He hardly noticed because the boy's hand was on Crowley's shoulder as he leaned in to talk to him, pointing at the plates. Plates of food that Crowley would only pick at and slide his way when he was done. The boy laughed heartily at something Crowley said and squeezed his should before leaving them alone. The young lady was gone when he tore his eyes away from shooting lasers at the boy's head as he walked away.

“So?”

“What?”

“You've been raving about this dish all week and now you're not even looking at it. What's gotten in to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

“Really,” Aziraphale inwardly shook himself, “it's nothing.” He tried to put it behind him, the moment of jealousy. It was an unnecessary and unangelic emotion. Crowley was here with him. He practically lived with him now that they'd sort-of saved the world. What would he see in such a young human, after all.

The boy was back ten minutes into the meal, asking Crowley if his food was cooked to his liking. Offering to whisk it away if it wasn't and bring something better. Crowley was polite, telling him it was fine. His eyes only strayed from Aziraphale for a moment to recognize that he was being spoken to. When the boy left, Crowley pushed the plate closer to Aziraphale and waggled his eyebrows, sliding his hand up a little further along Aziraphale's thigh. It was fine, this was all fine.

That was until the boy brought Crowley a piece of cake without taking an order for dessert or acknowledging that Aziraphale might like a slice, too. Crowley frowned at the cake and mumbled a thank you. The boy was blushing now, color high on his cheeks. He left the check as he departed with some reluctance. Aziraphale snatched the check from the table.

Loopy handwriting revealed the boy's name: Geremy (who spelled Jeremy with a G anyway?) and then his number and a heart. The slice of cake was not included in bill. Disregarding their normal routine and the decadent piece of cake in front of Crowley which surely would've been passed to him, he pulled out enough money to settle the bill- with a pittance of a tip- and stood, making for the exit.

Crowley didn't catch up to him until they were outside. It was only then that Aziraphale remembered that they had to wait for someone to bring the car around. He stuffed the check with Geremy's number on it into his pocket and hugged himself.

“Angel,” Crowley was clutching his elbow, trying to get him to meet his eyes, “really, what's gotten into you?”

“I just want to go home.”

“But the cake...”

“The cake. Was for you.”

“I don't even like cake.”

“Well, Geremy, apparently thought you would.”

“Who's Geremy?”

The Bentley was in front of them now and Crowley took the keys from a curvy person, gender unidentifiable. Aziraphale watched as they brushed hands with Crowley, clearly holding on to the keys a moment longer than necessary.

“Goodnight, Mr. Crowley. That car is a dream.”

“Oh, yes. Mint condition! Never a dent or a scratch.” It was an almost-truth.

“I'll say.” They winked at him before strutting away.

Aziraphale said nothing to him when he climbed inside, self-satisfied smile in place. The drive was also quiet, thick with Aziraphale's stewing. They parked outside Crowley's building and it was only then that he remembered agreeing to stay the night in his flat so Crowley could threaten his plants enough to keep them properly frightened for the next week. Really, he wanted to hide out with his books and sulk. There was nothing for that now, though. He let himself out of the car and followed Crowley to the elevator inside. The man inside the elevator- mid 40s with hair greying at his temples- greeted Crowley warmly, hitting the correct floor number without being asked. They chatted as the elevator rose, something Crowley said making the man laugh and touch his arm.

Aziraphale had had just about enough of people flirting with his partner for the evening. He felt more than heard the growl that rumbled through his chest. Crowley's eyebrows had climbed halfway up his forehead as he stared at him.

“Leo, maybe you ought to let us off here instead.”

“But, Mr. Crowley, you're one more floor up!”

“Here's good, stop the elevator.”

The doors opened and Crowley pulled Aziraphale out with him, the angel still staring death at Leo. The doors remained open as if Leo expected them to come back, but Crowley ignored him. He pulled Aziraphale around so that he had to look at him and not Leo. Aziraphale was breathing heavily and realized he could see himself glowing in Crowley's sunglasses, swirls of grace coming off of him in fits and starts.

“Aziraphale! Snap out of it, love. Come on, now. He's just a human being human, eh?” Crowley was shaking him gently.

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, staring at Crowley's lips. He recalled once in the recent past when Crowley had pushed him against a wall. What a thrill that had been: to be so physically posessed by the demon. Even the woman who had previously been a nun had assumed they were together simply from that one physical display.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley's chest and pushed. Crowley could have stopped him if he chose. Or, at the very least, put up some kind of resistance. He didn't. He backed up obediantly until his back thumped against the wall of the hallway. Aziraphale could feel Leo's eyes still on them, probably wondering if he should call someone.

Crowley's attention was completely on him now, his chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths.

“Mine.”

“Wha- at?”

“You. are. mine.”

“'course I am, Angel. Always have been.” Crowley reached out to touch his cheek, but Aziraphale wasn't ready for gentleness just yet. He grasped Crowley's wrist and pinned it over his head, kissing him suddenly and hard. Crowley gasped against his lips, but quickly returned it with vigor. His unpinned hand went to Aziraphale's hip like a magnet, pulling him in flush- mindless now to the show they were putting on. Somewhere in the distance, Aziraphale heard the elevator close. He broke the kiss slowly, dragging his teeth along Crowley's now-swollen lower lip. When he pulled back, Crowley's sunglasses were askew. Releasing the hand pinned over his head, Aziraphale straightened them for him.

“I'm hardly going to be able to meet Leo's eyes in the morning, you know.”

“He shouldn't be making eyes at you anyway.”

“Really, he has a family...”

“That doesn't make you any less desirable to him.”

“Maybe so, but you're forgetting something.”

“And what's that?”

“Angel, I'm already taken.”

“Yeah? By whom?” Aziraphale just wanted to hear him say it, insecurities still creeping around the edges of his mind. Crowley could have nearly anyone. Three other people in one night, even.

“You,” Crowley drew him in as close as he could and placed a kiss on his forehead before leaning his against it, “it's only ever been you, Angel.”

“Hmm.” He could feel embarrassment flooding in to fill in the void that the territorialism had left.

“But,” Crowley swallowed and, this close, Aziraphale watched his adam's apple bob with appreciation, “if you want to take me upstairs and claim me... Well, I certainly wouldn't mind.”

“Liked that, did you?”

“Yesss,” Crowley rocked his hips forward to show him how much, “gotta warn you, though...”

“Y-yes?”

“We're gonna have to take the stairs.”


End file.
